


Justified

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gentleness, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Follows on from 'Learning Curve'</p>
<p>... Will's evening not going to plan, he starts to doubt both himself and his tentative relationship with Ethan</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justified

**Author's Note:**

> \- Takes place only a few hours after the end of 'Learning Curve'. (So... Yes. You will have needed to have read that one first)
> 
> \- Narrated by Will.
> 
> \- Self beta'd.
> 
> \- Possibly quite (and, having written it, I can say this!) self-indulgent, but... It is what it is. I felt the urge to... 'poke around' in Will's side of things and... this is what came out.
> 
> \- As always, thank you to those who have taken the time to either comment or leave kudos. It really does mean a lot to me!

=========  
Justified  
by TalithaX  
=========

 

I thought I was so smart.

The care and precision I'd put into my planning was, or so I honestly believed in all of my naivety anyway, faultless. It was. It just really was. It was all very logical, made perfect sense to me, and I could see no reason for not simply taking success as a given.

I'd thought it out in detail, carefully and patiently bided my time until I was convinced the moment was right, and I was even... quietly... proud of myself for having come up with it and, in a sense, for both taking the initiative and seizing the moment.

It was a good plan. One I'd even been looking forward to seeing realised. 

I should have known better though.

I just... should have.

I mean, what was I thinking? In all seriousness, just what the fuck was I thinking?

I should have both left well enough alone and never got my stupid hopes up. 

Shouldn't have pushed the issue.

Shouldn't have deluded myself that I'm ready when clearly I'm not, that, in fact, I'm far from fucking ready and have just had it brought home to me in no uncertain terms that I now don't even know if I'll ever be.

Pathetic.

I'm pathetic.

I can... revert to form... and let someone I actively despise fuck me because I can see no other way to achieve the mission's all important goal. I can even apply coldly clinical logic – it's not, after all, as though it's anything new to me – to the admittedly repugnant situation and make my peace with it.

Yet, what I can't do is...

… Let someone I actually care about and who I know, even though I can't for the life of me understand why, cares about me, so much as... touch my naked skin... without completely losing the plot.

So...

Pathetic. No doubt about it.

Actually, seeing as the living room door is in the process of being opened and I'm still no more in control of myself than I was five minutes ago, make that pathetic and... trapped.

Pathetic. Look it up in the dictionary and I'm sure you'd find my photo – most likely having been taken right at this very point in time because, hey, nothing says pathetic more clearly than sitting, huddled in a blanket on the floor while simultaneously staring at an all but dead fire and trembling – by way of definition.

Oh yeah. And to think I thought I knew what I was doing.

Pathetic, trapped, and stupid. What a fucking award winning mixture.

I shouldn't have bothered. Should never have got my foolish hopes up. 

I just...

I shouldn't be in this position.

I should...

I should have known better.

The overheard light being turned on causing me, even though I was expecting it, to groan at the sudden brightness, I pull the blanket even more tightly around my shoulders and continue to stare directly in front of me at the fireplace and the last remaining dying embers of the fire Ethan lit only a couple of hours ago.

… If I don't look at him, don't acknowledge him in any way, maybe... just maybe, he'll get the hint and decide that the time really has come for him to both cut his losses and get the fuck away.

Yeah. Right. As this is Ethan we're talking about here, Ethan, who never gives up at anything once he's set his mind on it even though it should be obvious to him that it's a lost cause and should just be left well enough alone, clearly I need to add delusional to my fucked up mixture as well. 

He's not going to give up because, unlike me, he still thinks he can see a light at the end of the very long and very dark tunnel. He thinks, for some fucked in the head reason, that I'm... worth it. Worth all the hassle and the effort and the patience and the kindness, when, really...

I'm not.

I'm just not.

Especially as I can't, I... don't even have it in me, to give him what he thinks he wants. I want to, God knows I want to be able to give him... everything... but I can't. I just can't.

Sighing as he takes in the pitiful sight I make, Ethan – more fool him, doesn't run for the hills – uses the dimmer switch to soften the light in the room to a warm, dull glow before walking over to me and crouching down. Although I tense up in anticipation of him reaching out to touch me, he doesn't and simply regards me silently for a few seconds before shaking his head and sighing again. “That blanket,” he murmurs quietly, “isn't that the one from...”

“It is,” I mutter, abruptly cutting him off because I know what it is he's going to say and don't need to hear it. Yes, the blanket I'm using to huddle under is the one from Perkins', the one Ethan took from the bedroom I'd been locked in and used to wrap me in once we were in the car. And, no, I shouldn't still have it and should have just thrown it out the very next day. It belonged to someone I hate, was used in not the most... pleasant... of circumstances, but... In keeping with my aspirations for all things pathetic, I... like it. To me, the mink-feel, leopard print blanket represents both... comfort and safety. I remember waking up in it on the jet back to D.C. and, even though I didn't actually know where I was at the time, what I did know was that I felt warm and safe and that, without even opening my eyes, the arm I felt around my shoulders was Ethan's. And, compared to what I'd recently been through, it was so... welcome, and such a relief that I could barely believe it was even real, that it was actually... over and that, for the first time in a long time, there was someone in my life I could... dare... to rely on.

It's only a blanket, a blanket that Ethan clearly didn't notice while it was neatly folded across the foot of my bed and which he's struggling to understand just why the hell it is it's still here, but to me it's more, much more.

Again, pathetic, remember?

“But...” Frowning, Ethan gives another shake of his head. “Surely...”

“It's soft,” I interrupt, wishing I'd had the foresight to pull it up over my head like a hood so that I could... really... hide in it. “And... and I like it.”

“You... like it? But...” Trailing off, Ethan shrugs and, shifting into a kneeling position, turns his attention to the fire. “Seeing as you've obviously decided to set up camp in here, I suppose I'd better see what I can do to get the fire going again.”

Don't bother... Go away... Leave me alone to further disintegrate in peace... Don't you see, this is all your fault? Oh God, please don't give up on me... I'm sorry, so fucking sorry... Don't worry about the fire, just hold me... Why? Why do you care, Ethan, when surely you can see that I'm just not worth it?

Responses, wildly different but all heartfelt, fly around in my head but, feeling perfectly incapable of giving voice to any of them for fear of where they might lead, I remain silent and, for no other reason than he's now in my line of sight, watch Ethan as he coaxes life back into the fire. When he's done and flames are once again flickering in the fireplace, he settles himself on the floor next to me and holds his hands out towards the warmth.

“I can remember sitting in front of the big fireplace in the farmhouse like this with my cousins,” he comments, as far as I'm concerned anyway, apropos of nothing. “It used to be something of a treat during winter to toast marshmallows on the fire and tell ghost stories. While the stories I was all for though, I never did like the marshmallows and could never work out why everyone else thought they were such a treat.”

“I... I like marshmallows,” I whisper, the downright pointless response slipping past my lips before I can stop it. Marshmallows? Seriously, I lead Ethan on before having a melt down the second he touches me, and... he wants to reminisce about marshmallows? I don't get it.

“Then that's enough to make me wish I had some of the horrible things with me right now,” Ethan replies, shuffling just that little bit closer but, at the same time, making no move to touch me. “Will... Look at me. It's... okay. Things, you've got to believe me, are okay.”

On second thoughts. Marshmallows. Let's talk about marshmallows.

“I've never tried them toasted,” I murmur, ignoring Ethan's attempt to, well, get to the point of why I'm sitting on the floor hiding in a blanket that he doesn't think I should have and making a glaringly obvious bid to keep to the... safe... topic of marshmallows. “I... don't like them in hot chocolate though because they go all soggy.”

“In that case, I give you my word that the next time I see a packet of marshmallows I'm going to buy them and toast them for you on this very fireplace here.”

“But...”

“Uh-uh. No buts, Will,” Ethan states easily enough as he cuts me off. “I know what you're trying to do or... what it is you think you have to do, but... you're not getting rid of me this easily and I have every intention of spending other nights with you in front of this very fire.”

I wish I had Ethan's confidence and determination, I really do, but can't he see that this is for the best? That giving up now is as much in his best interests as it is mine? “Ethan... Please. Listen to me...”

“No. I'm not going to listen to you because you've convinced yourself of something that isn't the case at all and...”

“But... It is. It is the case and...”

“It's not and... and even if it was, which it isn't, I'm still not going to give up on you just because you think I should.”

“I... Goddamn it, Ethan!” Twisting my head around, I shoot him an annoyed look. “Just... Put everything else aside for a second and listen to me,” I mutter as, unable to cope with either how concerned Ethan's looking or his gaze catching mine, I turn back to face the fire. “You... You don't need... this... and you sure as fuck don't need me. You... can do better, a lot better, and you know it. So, please...”

“Actually, that's the thing, I can't,” Ethan murmurs both calmly and... cryptically. “I was actually giving that some thought today as I dragged those brain dead rookies around and, sorry, as far as I was able to work out, you're just... it.”

“Excuse me?” I know what he's doing because he used the same trick on me in this very same room three weeks ago when I was trying to get it through his thick skull that what it was I was about to tell him was forever going to change his opinion of me. He's going to, all the time both calmly and with a straight face, babble complete... randomness... at me until I'm so confused and perplexed at what he's on about that I just... give up... and let him have his way. Last time it was his own personal moral litmus test and I was so... bemused... at being asked whether I was in to paedophilia or bestiality that he ended up just getting his way with ease.

So... I know what he's doing.

What I also know is that I'm going to let him. That, instead of turning a deaf ear to whatever it is he's about to tell me or trying to shout my side of things over the top of him, I'm going to let him weave his bullshit magic around me because...

I want to hear it.

I want to delay the inevitable and listen to Ethan talk utter crap to me one last time because...

… It means he's still here and he's still trying.

“Mmm... It's highly scientific too, so I hope you're ready to concentrate and keep up with me.”

“I... I'll do my best.”

“Okay then. Uh... Before I start, please don't hesitate to interrupt if I'm going too fast for you or if you feel the... equation... is going over your head.”

“Again, I'll try to do my best to keep up with you, Professor Hunt.”

“Professor Hunt,” Ethan echoes with a snort of laughter. “I like that.”

“For some reason that doesn't surprise me at all,” I retort, risking another glance at Ethan and giving him an expectant look. “Come on. I'm waiting to be blown away with your scientific deduction as to just why it is you feel stuck with me.”

“Not stuck, more... meant to be,” Ethan replies, shrugging as he flashes me a quick smile. “The math, after all, doesn't lie.”

“So... Tell me,” I mutter, countering his smile with a scowl to disguise the – pathetic – tremor of hope I can feel trying its hardest to build up in me. It'll only be nonsense, whatever it is that's about to come out of his mouth, spur-of-the-moment crap to hook me in and captivate me, but...

I want to hear it.

I want to know just what it is he's come up with to justify our... relationship, such – or should that be, fucked – as it is.

“Okay. Here goes,” Ethan states as, ignoring my scowl, he continues to smile quite happily. “Having finally accepted that I prefer men to women, that, you'd have to agree, is about fifty percent of the world's population off the table right there.”

“Uh... Okay. But I'm still not seeing how I manage to be... it... out of that fifty percent.”

“Patience, Grasshopper.”

“Did you just call me Grasshopper?”

“I did.”

“Do you even know what movie that line is from?”

“Is it from a movie?”

“It is.”

“Well, that'd probably explain where Benji got it from. Now... Stop interrupting and let me finish blowing you away with my irrefutable logic.”

“Irrefutable, huh?”

“You have no idea. So... Of that fifty percent, the number is well and truly whittled down by the fact, and you can thank my harebrained attempt at playing at getting married here for proving this particular point, that I... definitely... think I have to stick to those in the same line of work as me. No... civilians, in other words.”

“So... Your pool of prospective partners is now down to... men who... work in law enforcement?”

“Well, having high standards and really only wanting to fraternise with the best of the best, I probably should clarify here that it's men who work for IMF.”

“Of course it is. So... Benji or Luther, they could be viewed with... interest... then?”

“Uh...” Looking amused that I could even dare suggest such a thing, Ethan shakes his head. “Perhaps I need to clarify here that... not only are my standards high, but I'm also... lazy... in that I don't want to have to waste my time on first... turning... my prospective partner. But... You're right. If either Benji or Luther went for men then, yes, they'd be on my radar and you'd have competition.”

“Remind me, then, to have a discussion with Benji about what he's missing out on.”

“Only if you let me sit in on the discussion.”

“Uh... Seeing as I'm yet to see how I'm... it... I may have to get back to you on that. So... Pray. Continue.”

“While you have to agree that my pool of... men who like men and who work for IMF... is already quite small, there's still a couple of other factors that have to be taken into consideration.”

“And what would they be?”

“Age. I don't consider myself ageist but at the same time, if I fall in love I want that person to be with me until we're both hopefully a ripe old age, so... anyone five years older than me is out. The same five years goes for being younger than me too. Not only for the same... spending old age together reasons, but also because I'm already old enough and cranky enough myself to feel... disconnected... from the youth of today. So...

“Five years older or five years younger, I get it. Now... Seeing as, yes, I'm getting that I'm still in the mix here, what about Larry in accounts though? He's gay, works for IMF, and just happens to be the same age as you.”

“And, I'm sorry, but he has a face only his mother could love. Harsh, I know, but sadly true. Oh, that, and his fashion sense is worse than Benji's.”

“So... Has to live up to your idea of aesthetically pleasing and possess some degree of fashion sense as well... Okay. What about Simon Potter? Surely he matches all the criteria.”

“Mmm... But a couple of years ago it was a case of been there, done that, and... uh... he has a thing for toes that I don't really share.”

“Oh.” As in... to each their own and all that, but... gross.

“Trust me... You really have no idea,” Ethan mutters, pulling a face before, with a shrug, going back to smiling at me. “Are you now seeing how you're simply... it... though? That in the whole of IMF, you're the only for me?”

“I...” Damn it. There's pathetic, and then there's falling hook, line and sinker for Ethan's facetious tale and wanting so desperately for it to be true that I... I don't even know how to reply. I was fine a moment ago. The banter was flowing and I was so, just as Ethan would have hoped and planned for, caught up in it all that, all too briefly, nothing else mattered.

Pathetic.

I'm so fucking pathetic that I almost want to do the one thing I don't do, and that's cry.

I now feel as though I want to cry because I...

… Almost want Ethan to give up and walk off on me as much as I want him to put his arm around my shoulders and just hug me. 

He deserves better, that much is a given. He deserves someone not weighed down by emotional baggage and who can actually be a lover to him. He also deserves someone he doesn't always have to feel as though he needs to treat with kid gloves and whose... reasonable mental state... he can take for granted.

But...

It's wrong of me, I know that, but I want him to dig his heels in and not give up on me so much that it literally hurts. Everything else, his good looks, dedication, kindness and sheer... brilliance aside, I not only trust him unconditionally but when we're together I feel... content, as though things, possibly, could be okay after all. What's more, not that I ever would have admitted it to myself, let alone either said or done anything about it, I've felt this way about him for a while. Ever since that flight back from Shanghai where I fell asleep next to him on the plane and used his shoulder as a pillow for seven hours, in fact. I've been so... wary... of people for so long now that... to have instinctively let my defences down like that, well, it just had to mean that somehow, without even being aware of it, I trusted him. I already, again not that I was really acknowledging this fact, liked him well enough in my own, stand offish and tentative, way, but... Sleeping on him, really, that was just something else again.

Ethan, he... gets to me in a way I've never experienced before. He's everything I'm not and, when I'm at my most wistful, long to be. Instinctive. Effortless. Warm. Funny. Gentle. Patient. Safe. Comforting.

Hope. 

He...

He gives me hope, that's what he does.

That, and he terrifies me.

“While I know that somewhat... sad and sorry tale was an exercise in creative... babble,” Ethan states softly as, throwing caution to the winds, he drapes his arm over my shoulder and hugs me against him, “what it also, in its own way, was the truth. I know you think you're fucked up and that I'm better off having nothing to do with, but I want you, Will, and I'm not going to give up on you without one hell of a fight. You're... fragile, not irreparable, and it's going to take a lot more than... this... to get rid of me.” 

Forcefully quashing the voice in my head that's telling me to just push him away before picking up my blanket and bolting from the room, I... give in... to temptation and, without even feigning an attempt at either defiance or hesitation, slump against Ethan. “You don't need this,” I whisper, loving how he automatically tightens his arm around me as much as it bothers me how... desperate... I am for his – already – reassuring touch. “I... I thank you for what you're attempting to do, but... really... you don't need this.”

“Neither do you,” Ethan replies in that matter-of-fact, reasonable tone of voice that, just recently anyway, he always seems to end up using on me far more than he does on anyone else. “As you don't need to be going through this either, the least I can do is...”

“But... I'm used to it,” I mumble, resting my head on his shoulder. “I... I've also made my peace with it. So, please, don't think you...”

“You may be used to it,” he interrupts, planting a quick kiss on the top of my head, “but you haven't resigned yourself to it. You might have thought you had, hell, it's fairly clear you're still thinking it, but... You haven't. And the reason I know this is because... I'm here. Think about it. If you'd truly made your peace with sticking it out alone, I wouldn't even be in your house, let alone sitting here with my arm around your shoulder, now, would I?”

“I...” Not having thought about it that way, I don't quite know how to reply and wish, again, that I was strong enough to just get up and storm off. “It doesn't matter,” I murmur after what feels like minutes have passed, “it... can't matter. This... game... we're...”

“Path,” Ethan corrects, punctuating his simple statement with another kiss to the top of my head.

“Sorry?”

“It's not a game, it's a... path.”

“Game. Path. You're talking semantics.” Just like the marshmallows earlier, I can't say I understand what Ethan's getting at.

“I'm not. We're on a path together, Will, not playing a game,” Ethan replies with a sigh. “One, the stakes are too high for any mere game and, two, it pains me to say this, but I'm not entirely sure you'd even know... how... to play anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm... Oh. You don't want to admit it, because you're convinced that what you're doing is for the best, but you know that I'm right,” he continues, lowering his head so he can whisper directly in my ear. “I'm not playing you because I'm some sort of asshole that just wants to mess with your head for perverse kicks, this isn't a game, and what we're on together is very much a long, windy and... difficult... path. One that, whether you even actually like it or not, I'm not planning on getting off of any time soon and which, I'm telling you now, I'm going to see through to the end.”

“But...” Lifting my head, I glance fleetingly up at Ethan and frown. “You... You can't,” I mumble, shaking my head. “You can't want... this.”

“I don't,” Ethan replies, lifting his free hand and, incredibly lightly, stroking his finger along my cheek. “I want you.”

“You can't,” I protest faintly even as, my willpower still continuing to desert me, I lean into his gentle touch. “Even if you thought you did, you can't, not... Not now. Not after...” Trailing off, I sigh and accidentally dislodge his finger by shaking my head again. “What happened...”

“Isn't anything worth making such a big deal out of,” Ethan finishes, going for a more direct route this time by cupping my cheek in the palm of his hand and tilting my head back until, with extreme reluctance on my part, I'm both looking up at him and effectively held in place. “It happened, yeah, but... It doesn't matter and it doesn't change anything. Will, it... makes sense to me, okay? Given everything you've been through, not liking sex isn't anything to be ashamed of or... embarrassed by...”

He... Fuck. Just like that... He takes everything, my complete and utter meltdown and subsequent irrational behaviour, in his stride and gets to the very crux of the matter... just like that. He doesn't sugar coat it, or tiptoe around the... delicate... subject matter, and just, because it has to be brought out into the open and he knows I'm not going to be the one to do it, comes out and says it.

And I don't know whether I should thank him for it or throw everything I've got into wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. 

It's not, after all, something that one really wants to own up to, let alone discuss. Especially not to the person... one would actually like to have it with...

… If that is, one actually wanted to have it at all.

Which, one... doesn't.

I thought I did. Hell, I was positive that I not only wanted it but that, as there'd be no reason there'd be a problem with it, I could both go through with it with ease and even... enjoy it. I trust and like Ethan, he makes me feel safe and has the dubious honour of already knowing me better than I've ever let anyone know me before, and... Sex, it's normal, isn't it? It's fun and pleasurable and something you willingly share with the person you care about because, again, it's just... normal. It's enjoyable and it's what people do and, if I really wanted to show Ethan that I was serious about our tentative relationship, I needed to show him that, despite the fact I clearly wasn't, I could at least... pretend... to be normal and go through the expected motions.

My plan, to have him come around and help me go through the packing boxes full of my parents belongings in the basement, was a good one and it seemed to be working too. His presence made seeing their collected treasures for the first time since packing them away fourteen years ago bearable, and he provided both company and understanding that I'd be lying if I didn't say I appreciated. He was there, I was happy he was there, and the move upstairs to the bedroom just seemed like a natural, logical progression.

The doubt, however, started to grow as, suddenly feeling as though I had to – break a habit of a lifetime – do things on my terms, I made a point of standing back and taking my clothes off myself. Then, when looking doubtful himself by this time, he tried to touch me, it...

It all just got too much for me and I...

I couldn't do it.

That is, I could. Of course I could. I could have got down on my knees and, having learned to control my gag reflexes under Masters' tutelage, swallowed him whole. Or, if that wasn't to his liking, I could have bent over the bed and let him do whatever he liked to me. Anything he liked, I could have both given it to him and made him believe that it was what I wanted too, that I was absolutely getting as much out of it as he was.

Only, that is... I couldn't. I couldn't flick that switch and whore myself to Ethan because, if I had, it would have ruined everything and I never would have been able to look him in the eye again.

So...

I grabbed my blanket and bolted for the all too brief sanctuary of the living room instead.

And here we are.

“Just... Just because I don't like it doesn't... uh... mean that I'm not good at it,” I whisper, blinking at Ethan as I attempt to back my random, futile comment up by trying unsuccessfully to pull my face away from his soft but firm touch. “If you want...”

“It pains me to say this,” Ethan murmurs as, gazing directly into my eyes, he strokes the tips of his finger along my cheek, “but I have every confidence you're good at it because... you wouldn't be in the mess you're in now if you weren't. But... This isn't about being... good... at it, it's about you wanting it because you'd actually... like... it.” 

“It's... something I'm good at,” I repeat, apparently wanting to make sure he's really, really clear on this point for some completely unknown reason as, unable to handle his gaze on me, I jerk my head free and feign fascination with my leopard print covered knees. “My training, it was very... thorough, and... uh... as they're not the sort of skills you're ever likely to forget, I could...”

“Again, while I have no doubt that you... could,” Ethan interrupts with a sigh, “you're not going to. Come on, Will... Look at me. You're working yourself up over... something that isn't an issue.”

“Not an issue!” I exclaim, risking a disbelieving glance at Ethan as, not sharing my shock at his statement, he looks back at me both calmly and just that little bit worriedly. “How... Fuck! How can you say that?” Shrugging off his arm around my shoulder, I shuffle all of a couple of inches away and shake my head. “Of course it's a fucking issue. I'm... I'm not normal! Hell, I'm more than not normal, I'm pathetic. I... Just look at me! How can you sit there and think... this... isn't an issue, huh?”

Sighing again, Ethan looks for a second or two as though he's going to move towards me before, with the slightest of shrugs, settling back down and wearily running his fingers through his hair. “You're not pathetic, Will, and I don't want you to so much as think it, let alone say it ever again,” he responds firmly as, really agitated now, I fuss over pulling the blanket even more tightly around my shoulders. “As for normal? What is normal, anyway? To the majority of the world how we choose to make our living isn't normal at all, yet... to our way of thinking, it is. Normal is... relative, and, knowing what I do about your history, I have no difficulties in accepting that your... views... on sex are actually quite normal indeed.”

Normal? I'm a thirty-eight year old man who has no qualms whatsoever about letting someone I dislike, or, while I'm at it, don't even know for that matter, fuck me or do whatever they like to me, yet I can't bring myself to... be intimate... with someone I actually care about.

Oh yeah. I'm the fucking poster child for normalcy.

“I'm being pathetic,” I mutter, still addressing my knees because just about the last thing I feel like doing at the moment is looking over at Ethan and finding him looking back at me with an expression of pity on his face. “You... You're right. I'm making a mountain out of molehill for no reason. It's just sex. Something I can both do and, by all accounts, am quite good at. So...”

“So, you're good at fighting too,” Ethan replies almost indifferently, “but unless I'm mistaken you don't particularly enjoy that either and only do it when the situation calls for it.”

“Depends on who I'm actually fighting as to whether I enjoy it or not,” I respond flatly. “But... What's that got to do with anything anyway?”

“I was just trying to show that being good at something and enjoying it don't always have to go hand in hand.”

“Fighting and fucking,” I grind out, turning a deaf ear to Ethan's attempts to get through to me because pushing forever forward on the defensive is just easier than backing down and listening to, dare I say it, reason. “As I really am a man of varied talents, I can see why you're bothering with me.”

“Actually, I'm bothering with you because I have this macabre side that gets a degree of sick pleasure in watching someone I care about disintegrate in front me,” Ethan retorts with yet another sigh. “Look. I've not been through the things you have and am not going to sit here and waste my breath on going... there, there, I understand, because... I don't. I can guess, and I can try to think of the right things to say, but what I can't do is put myself in your shoes. What I can also do, however, is this... And that's reiterate that I honestly think what you're going through is... if not normal, because I know that word only sets you off, then... justified. Will... Listen to me, your reactions, everything you're going through, it's justified.”

“Justified? Crap. I'm pathetic.”

“Pathetic, no. Beginning to sound like a cracked record though, yes, definitely.”

“Don't start with me!”

“I'm not... starting... with you, I'm trying to get through to you. There is a difference, you know.”

“I...” While appearances might be deceiving, especially given the way I'm carrying on, I don't want to be doing this. I don't want Ethan to be having to bear the brunt of my irrational freak out and I don't want to be... feeling this way. I just don't and wish I could think of a way to dig myself out of the mess I'm now in. But... How? I have no more experience in losing the plot in front of an audience than I do knowing what to do with someone who won't come to their senses and just give up on me.

It's all just beyond me and, circling all the way back to where I started, I should have known better than to even try.

“Because you're already upset enough without me inadvertently pushing you further into your corner,” Ethan murmurs as he shifts closer to me and very lightly places his hand on my knee, “I'm just going to make one last attempt to get through to you before...”

“Giving up and leaving?” I offer, staring down at his hand as it rests, stark against the leopard print of the blanket, on my knee. “Ethan...”

“You should know that I don't give up,” he replies, curling his fingers into the soft fur, “that I'll... never give up. That said, if this doesn't work I won't say another word to you until it's time to head into HQ and... won't even follow you if you decide to get up and leave the room, which, I think you'll agree, is a pretty hard offer for me to make. So... What do you say?”

Knowing Ethan, I do agree, actually. Not, however, that I'm going to give so much as a glimmer of hope by sharing this with him. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then...” I shrug. “Go for it. Hit me with your last ditch attempt to... get me to see the light.”

“Not the light, just sense.”

“Whatever.” If it didn't involve having to pull my hand out from under the blanket I'd gesture at him airily to continue.

Taking a deep breath, Ethan exhales loudly and, with obvious reluctance, murmurs, “When was the last time you actually enjoyed sex?”

“Excuse me?” And, again, where did... that... come from?

“It was a pretty simple question, when did you last get any real pleasure out of sex?”

Not wanting to answer this because, assuming that is I can bring myself to be honest, I know he's not going to like my response, I pull my knee out from under his hand and scowl at him. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“I think you'll find it has a lot to do with everything,” Ethan replies with an unbothered shrug.

“Well, I don't. Look... Pathetic. Normal. Justified. Just... Whatever. Seeing as I don't know what my problem is myself, it's not as though you can be expected to get to the bottom of it either, so... Just forget it. It's... history. All of it is ancient history.”

“Not that ancient.”

“No? I don't know about you, but thirteen years is fairly ancient to me,” I mutter, still scowling at Ethan as I honestly have no idea what he's getting at here or even why he's arguing with me over what, let's face it, is my Goddamn past. All of this started with Masters fourteen years ago, and it basically ended with him thirteen years ago.

“While thirteen years... is... fairly ancient history,” Ethan responds, dropping his gaze and grimacing, as though what he's about to say actually pains him, “the same can't really be said for three weeks...”

“Three weeks? What are you... Oh...” Realising that he's referring to the mission to retrieve the nerve agent formula and what happened with Perkins, I fall silent and follow Ethan's lead by looking down.

He's right. Of course. This all kicked off three weeks ago. If it hadn't, I wouldn't be in the confused and frazzled position I'm in now.

“Yeah. Oh...”

“But... But that was only Perk...” Abruptly falling silent again as yet another of the thousand or so memories I never want to be reminded of raises its ugly head and slaps me in the face, I swallow hard and tilt my head back.

A strange noise that seems to be made up of a combination of a sigh and a groan slipping past Ethan's lips, he returns his hand to my knee and squeezes down on it. “It wasn't just Perkins, was it...”

I could lie. I could even refuse to reply or just both hurriedly and obviously change the subject. But... What's the point? Having given myself away by my reaction, Ethan already knows both the answer and just how low it is I'm capable of going. So, having possibly finally hit rock bottom and having nowhere else to go, he... can have it.

“No,” I whisper, keeping my gaze locked on the ceiling. “Not being as... uh... young as he used to be, when the bastard discovered he was out of little blue pills he decided that he'd just, you know, watch instead and... uh... that's when the creep with the fake green eyes was called in to... help...”

And, that, really is all I want to have to say on the matter. It happened. I can't change it. End of sordid story.

“I hope you realise you're really making me regret not having given in to Jane's desperate wish to be dropped off at Fantasy so she could feed that bastard his own balls,” Ethan retorts hoarsely as, quickly shifting next to me, he drapes his arm around my shoulders and hugs me warmly.

“It... It doesn't matter,” I mumble, squirming closer to Ethan and letting him hug me because... I'm weak and I'll be damned if things don't always seem just that little bit better whenever he's touching me. “It wasn't like it was anything new to me and... What's done is done...”

“I'm still thinking the next time I encounter Perkins that I'm going to let Jane loose on him,” Ethan mutters. “But... Back to my original topic... Come on, Will. Sex. When did you last actually enjoy it? Was it back when you were in Europe?”

“Europe?” I repeat, unashamedly stalling – the inevitable – for time as I marvel at just what a wondrous point I'm at in my life when I can't quite decide what topic of conversation is actually worse. Perkins and the green eyed creep with the icy cold hands, or... the truly tragic state of my sexual history...

Talk about being spoiled for choice.

“Mmm... Europe. You know, a reasonably large place that's full of many different foreign languages,” Ethan replies with just enough of a hint of facetiousness in his voice to tell me that, for him at least, this is far preferable to harking back to what happened just over three weeks ago. “Unless I'm thinking of someone else, I could have sworn you lived there for six years.”

“Oh. That... Europe,” I murmur, affecting a brief expression of surprise as, no longer feeling as though I have it in me to fight, I lean against Ethan and rest my head on his shoulder. “While, yeah, you're right in that I did live there for six years, I also lived that entire time out of a suitcase, moving from location to location as needed by IMF. I think the longest I ever stayed in once place was four months and... not really wanting a repeat of the Nick debacle... it wasn't as though I was exactly looking for... uh... that special someone, anyway. In fact, to be perfectly honest with you I was more than content to be always having to be on the move as it kept me busy and I... never had to stop and think about the state of my life or... what I actually wanted from it.”

“So... You were... celibate... for the entire time you were in Europe?” Ethan queries, sounding either dubious or just plain sad. I can't quite tell which it is and, oddly enough, have no inclination to find out.

“Not entirely,” I reply with a small, positively tiny so as not to dislodge his arm from my shoulders, shrug as I only just resist the urge to add... 'more's the pity'. “If the mission called for the seduction of a target then, of course, I did it. Oh, and before you ask, you could count the number of times this happened on the fingers of one hand, and... they were all so unremarkable that I couldn't even tell you if they were... unpleasant... or not.”

Resting his head lightly against mine, Ethan sighs – for the umpteenth time – softly and plucks aimlessly at the blanket with his fingers. “It's kind of... telling... that you went then with... unpleasant, instead of defaulting to... pleasant.”

“Left to my own devices I probably wouldn't have had it at all,” I confess with another barely perceptible shrug, “so... Whatever. In case you've not quite grasped it yet, I do what I feel I have to, not because I... want to.”

“Oh. Trust me. I've grasped it. You're quite... amazing... in that regard.”

“Amazing?” I snort. I just can't help it. “Try... not all there, or perhaps even clinically detached.”

“No. Just determined and very, very focussed. But...” Ethan makes a tsking sound under his breath and, just as he did earlier, kisses the top of my head. “As that's another point I'm not going to argue with you about at the moment, seeing as Europe is obviously out of the equation, what about that imbecile in Boston, Nick? Surely you must have had some good times with...”

“Oh... Don't even go there,” I interrupt with another snort because, yet again, I just can't help it. Nick... was special. So special in fact that I don't even know if I posses the words to adequately describe all of his foibles to Ethan. Or, for that matter, if I really want to. But, hey... Whatever. Seeing as he asked, I'll give it a go anyway. “Nick's number one love of his life was, well, Nick himself,” I murmur, glancing up at Ethan and rolling my eyes. “Sex with him was an act of worship where, all the time conforming to his set in concrete timetable of twice a week, I was allowed the treat, if not honour, of being granted full access to his... exquisite flesh.”

“Exquisite flesh, huh?” Ethan mutters, giving me a wry look.

“Well, adequate enough flesh at any rate,” I reply. “He... Don't get me wrong. He wasn't... kinky, or rough, and he never wanted anything that I wasn't prepared to give him. It was just always all about him though, his pleasure and his climax.” And that, really, was all there ever was to it. I got him off, which, given the specific skill set of my... previous... life, I was incredibly good at and could go through the motions with my mind only half on the task at – mouth – hand and he, in turn, once he'd been brought orgasm and was feeling pretty happy with his lot, would turn a... cursory... hand to me. It wasn't exactly – and here's that word again – normal, but I don't care any more about letting Nick effectively use me now than I did back then. Sex, I could personally take or leave anyway and as what he wanted was hardly a big ask of someone with my history, being with him just offered its own sense of convenience, and, again, I simply didn't care.

Besides, flipping out and trying to get me killed was far worse than his... quirks... in the bedroom were ever going to be. God knows it's that more than anything that I predominantly remember him for anyway. Not really caring enough for his so-called partner to devote the time to learn what he might like sexually is one thing. Reacting to learning of his... admittedly less than stellar past... like a screaming banshee and wanting him dead, however, well, that's something else again.

“And... he thanked you for this... worship... by trying to get you killed,” Ethan murmurs as though reading in mind. “Nice guy. Sounds like a real keeper.”

“Everything he did, I let him,” I sigh. I accepted his issues because I had so many of my own and, even though I knew in the back of my head that it wasn't really right, I thought by sticking with him I could attain a degree of stability and even... normalcy. “I'm not defending him because, yes, his reaction was over the top and for that reason alone I wish I'd never met him, but... I was as much to blame for our relationship, such as it was, as he was, so... At the risk of stealing your favourite trick from you, how about we just move on, yeah?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Ethan responds, rubbing his hand along my upper arm. “Mind you, both Europe and Nick being out, I'm thinking now that I probably don't even want to know the answer to my original question.”

“You probably don't,” I agree, closing my eyes, “but... we're here now and you... You can have it.” The truth, whole truth, and nothing but the – pathetic – truth. “You've most likely worked it out already, but the last time I honestly enjoyed sex was with Toby and, yes, before you do the math, that was fourteen years ago. Every time since then has... only been because I've had to or, in the case of Nick, because I'd convinced myself it was... the way to go about a more normal life. So... Uh. There you have it.”

Pathetic, right? While sex I can both do and do well, actually deriving any enjoyment out of it just seems to remain forever out of my reach.

“There I have it indeed,” Ethan whispers, sighing as he gives the top of my head another kiss. “Tell me though, what was it about Toby that makes your time with him stand out?” he adds, surprising me with the slight detour in his questioning. “And don't tell me it was just because of the drugs and the fact you were both high as kites because I'm not going to believe it. He was special to you, Will, and I would genuinely like to know why.”

“Why?” Ethan wants to know why, and all I can think is... Why? Why does he want to know? That, and... what could he possibly hope to achieve by knowing anyway?

“While you're a lot of things, Will, obtuse isn't one of them,” Ethan replies, “so... Come on, talk to me. If it helps, while I think I already have a fairly good idea, I want to hear the confirmation from you because... I think you need to hear it too.”

“I...” Wriggling my right hand out from beneath the blanket, I rub my fingers across my forehead before placing my palm over my eyes and sighing. Ethan, I know, isn't going to let this go. It's just not what he does. If he's got his mind set on something he'll keep at it until he's achieved whatever it is he's set out to achieve, and... really, trying to get in his way or throwing up roadblocks at every opportunity, just... isn't worth it. It simply isn't. I don't have it in me to deflect him, and... 

Okay. Maybe, just maybe, there's even a small a part of me that wants to know what it is he's thinking I need to hear for myself.

“Come on, Will,” he prompts gently as I continue to keep my still closed eyes hidden behind my hand. “What made your time with Toby special?”

“He...” I release a deep, shaky breath and spend a moment or two revisiting my earlier wish of the floor opening up and swallowing me whole. Saying this shouldn't be hard, but it is. It's hard not only because it takes me back there, but also because Ethan's right in that it was... special. What I had far too briefly with Toby all those years ago was both special and... very much a one off. No one has come close since then to making me feel as good as he was able to.

Well, that is, no one except Ethan.

Ethan, who's hugging me tightly and waiting patiently for me to get with the fucking program and just – embrace the moment – open up and be damn well done with it.

Ethan, who tolerates all my bizarre behavior and who appears to have the innate ability to never make me feel any worse about myself.

Ethan, who... after all these years has given me cause to hope, and who I already can't shake the feeling I'd feel lost without.

So... If he wants it, he can have it. Seeing as I have little enough to offer him as it is, if it's the sad and sorry truth he wants, he can have it with my compliments.

“Toby was special because I... I enjoyed being with him,” I whisper. “Compared to the rest of the people I was dealing with at the time, he was kind and gentle, and he never made me do anything I didn't want to or didn't feel comfortable doing. We... had fun together and... ignoring the time we were both too stoned to know what we were doing and I fractured my wrist when we fell off the bed and he landed on me... he never, ever hurt me. He also tried to do what he could to make sure that I was okay, like, always being there when I got back and either running me a bath or showering with me, and he... he made me feel safe. With Toby, things... they never seemed quite so dark...”

“Just as I thought then,” Ethan murmurs, closing his hand lightly around my wrist and slowly pulling my hand away from my eyes, “Toby treated you like a person and a lover, not an object.”

Object.

Such a simple, yet scarily descriptive way of putting it.

To Masters and his cronies there's no question that I was an object, something to be traded and used as they saw fit. For the benefit of both Nick and the few targets in Europe, I deliberately – solely in the name of my warped idea of self-preservation – reverted to the... non-thinking... status of an object and just let them have me because I'd decided I was fine with it and it served a purpose. To Perkins, who actually went so far as to wanting to... buy... me, I was definitely an object. An apparently desirable one that he wanted for himself, but still very much just an object. No feelings. No ability to differentiate between pleasure and pain, and... not worthy of being viewed as... anything, really. Just something to serve a purpose and nothing more.

Toby though, he never made me feel like that. Albeit in an entirely drug fucked, broken sense, we were equals. Everything we did we did because we wanted to and because it was enjoyable. When he touched me, I actually felt it, reacted to it, and wanted it. Which...

… Is more than can be said for anyone that followed.

Until now.

“He was also,” I add faintly as I open my eyes and blink at Ethan, “the only one to ever just... hold me. If I was feeling down, or even just... coming down, he'd hug me and it... just made everything feel better somehow, as though I wasn't alone and that there... was actually someone who cared...”

“So you like being hugged, huh?” Ethan murmurs as, tightening his arm around my shoulder, he swaps his kiss-on-the-head routine with a quick, fleeting kiss to the tip of my nose. “You know, I never would have guessed.”

“Only by some people,” I respond with a wan smile as, be it through exhaustion, defeatism, or possibly even the tiniest hint of contentment, I finally begin to feel as though I'm calming down and that perhaps, just perhaps, things aren't so hideously awful after all. “Until you... and your stubborn refusal to back off and leave well enough alone... came along, the honour belonged solely to Toby.”

“In that case,” he replies, returning my smile with a far brighter one of his own as he too can see – miracle of miracles – that he's finally managed to get through to me, “not only am I in illustrious company, but I'm also pleased to know that my... stubborn refusal... to just take a step back and leave you to your lonely devices has had such a... gratifying... outcome for both of us.”

“Both of us, huh?” I query as, liking the thought of it, my own smile broadens and I actually feel confident enough to both lift my head off Ethan's shoulder and look him in the eye.

Raising an eyebrow, he puts on a small show of shaking his head and affecting a disapproving expression. “Do I look like I'm complaining about being in this position?”

“Well... You are renowned for your excellent acting skills, and... no one has ever doubted your ability to successfully achieve the most... uh... impossible of missions, so... Who really knows?” The words fall out of my mouth in a flood and it's only when I'm finished, and Ethan's looking at me as though I've just grown fangs and expressed a rampant desire to suck his blood, that I realise how careless, thoughtless, and downright – stupid – hurtful I've just been. Yes. I have my doubts about all of this, but that's me and my general fear of the unknown. To doubt Ethan, who ever since Vegas has been nothing but kind and attentive to me, however, is just... self-absorbed and ignorant of me. We all do things we don't want to. God knows I'm a perfect example. If Ethan, regardless of whatever his unknown and illogical (to me) reasons are, didn't want to be here putting up with my bullshit then...

He wouldn't be.

Right?

“Is that what you honestly think this is?” Ethan sighs as, to my – albeit deserved – horror, he removes his arm from around my shoulders and pulls away. “That... I'm so starved for entertainment that I'm here messing with you... for kicks? Will...”

“I... I'm sorry,” I interject, shifting into a kneeling position and, feeling perfectly incapable of looking at him, directing my response to a random point just left of Ethan. “It just slipped out and... I'm sorry...”

“Is that what you genuinely think though, that I'm... conducting some sort of experiment on you?” he queries, following suit and changing position to kneel directly in front of me.

“I...” Too wary of yet again issuing forth with the wrong thing, I shut my mouth and, keeping my head lowered, slump down so that my butt is resting on my heels.

“You're still struggling to get it, aren't you?” Ethan murmurs with what actually sounds like an out of the blue hint of humour. “You're... so far out of your comfort zone that you just can't get your head around it at all.”

“Around... what?” Ethan once again having weaved his seemingly effortless magic in capturing my attention and grounding me back in the here and now, I look up and frown. “I don't understand.”

“And that's it in a nutshell,” he replies, giving me a fond smile as he shifts closer to me and places his hands on my shoulders. “You don't understand and, at the risk of being reduced to having to deliver a vaguely lecturing monologue, I think I'm going to have to bite the bullet and just try to get through to you once and for all.”

“I...” Things already seeming a little better than they did a moment ago simply because I can feel his reassuring touch again, I give a small nod. “I'm listening.”

“And concentrating too, I hope.”

“And concentrating.”

“With an open mind and a willingness to follow what I'm wanting so desperately to get through to you?”

“Yes... and, yes. Not wanting this to drag on for any longer than you do, I promise to give you my undivided attention.”

Just...

Talk to me.

Convince me.

Fight...

… For me.

“As I can't ask for more than that,” Ethan replies, smiling as squeezes his hands around my shoulders, “here I go with my... off the cuff attempt to get it through your thick skull that this is both happening and real. That, what you started, Will, and it was you who started it... which is something worth remembering in itself... is very real.”

“But...”

“Shhh! Lecturing, remember?”

“Sorry...”

“So you should be. Now... Listen and listen carefully. You're not pathetic... or a freak... or broken... or a lost cause. You may be damaged, but I challenge you to find a person who isn't in their own way. In fact, given your past I still say that your confusion, doubt and, hell, the way you're reacting to the... foreign... changes in your life is still completely justified. You... You've turned yourself into a loner, Will, and I know that letting anyone into your life is a big ask. Not only that, but sex is far more about... having to complete a task... to you than it is about fun and pleasure. I get that. I wish that I didn't, that it wasn't like that at all, but it makes sense to me. You equate it with being reduced to feeling like an object and, while you're not afraid of the alternative, of actually learning to enjoy it again, what you're not entirely comfortable with is how to successfully go about it, or... even if you have it in you.” Pausing, he looks at me closely and smiles hopefully. “How am I going so far?”

“Like you'd make a killing on the lecture circuit if you were ever looking for a career change,” I murmur, locking my gaze on Ethan's so he knows that I'm hanging off his every word. I knew he was good, that his ability to read people was second to none, but he's just so succinctly... dumbed down... all of my issues that... Shit. I think I'm in awe. “But... What about you?”

“What... about... me?” Ethan counters with both a shrug and a grin. “I'm right where I want to be, doing what I want to do. Actually, no... That's not entirely true. I can think of quite a few things I'd rather be doing with you... and you can get your mind out of the gutter here because having my wicked way with you isn't actually one them... than sitting on the floor and fearing that I'm going to lose my voice before you get with the program, but... It doesn't matter because I still can't think of anywhere I'd rather be. I... I'm not messing with you, Will. You're my team mate, my friend, and, contrary to what you might think, I'm firmly of the opinion that you're quite amazing and well worth my interest. What you're not, however, is a challenge or an experiment or... even some form of community service for having once wronged a deity in a former life. I'm here because I want to be. I'm sticking with you and telling you here and now that I'd like nothing more than to continue down this path with you because, you guessed it, it's what I want. I want you. That, and perhaps even more importantly, I want you to know that you're worth it.”

Pausing again, he cups the side of my face in the palm of his hand and, just like he did earlier, strokes his fingers gently down my cheek. “Are you getting it yet? Your actions are understandable, there's nothing wrong with you that can't be fixed by both dedication and patience, you still know what you like even if you can't remember the last time you experienced it, and... you're worth it. You're worth fighting for, you're... more than worth the... novelty... of having someone both wanting and willing to fight for you, and you're definitely worth the effort. So... Having said my piece, I'll ask again... Are you getting it yet?”

“I...” While I'd love to be able to declare blithely that Ethan's words have installed an epiphany in me that's not only caused me to see the light but which has also instantly banished every single doubt to ever plague me, I... can't. I just can't. My default position is one of caution, not of hope, and it's going to take both a long time and a lot of industrious work on my part to ever change it.

That said...

I want to take everything he's just said as a given, just as I want to stop doubting every move either one of us make. I want... to feel worthy of being fought for and... to have it in me to fight for what I want in return.

I want to believe that this is real as much as I... want... it to be.

“I... want to get it,” I whisper, locking my gaze on Ethan's as I rest my cheek in his palm. “I... You have no idea how much I want to get it...”

“And that's as good an answer as I could have hoped for,” Ethan responds, leaning forward and kissing my forehead. “You're not going to change over night, Will, and it probably should be said that I don't have much better a track record with relationships than you do and am certainly no expert, so... wanting to get it is a good start as it means I somehow managed to make enough sense to click with you.”

“Somehow? Seeing as I think it's pretty safe to say you just made more sense in a couple of minutes than I have in the entire time I've been sitting here on the floor, don't sell yourself short,” I respond with a smile. “Seriously, Ethan, just... Thank you. Thank you for persevering, for talking sense, and, thank you for just being here. It... It really does mean a lot to me.”

“As gratifying as that admittedly is, it's not thanks I really want, it's knowing that you'll learn to... take it for granted,” Ethan murmurs as, with another kiss to my forehead, he glides his hand along the line of my jaw before shuffling a little way back and shifting into a crouching position. “Now... Maybe I'm just flush with success and am about to push my luck, but... I've got an idea I'd like to seek your opinion on.”

“Oh. You do, do you?”

“Mmm... I do.”

“In that case, seeing as you're not known for holding back, you may as well just hit me with it.”

Nodding, Ethan stands up and, with a grin, holds his hand out to me. “I was thinking you might just like to head back upstairs and go to bed,” he states, watching me closely to gauge my reaction. “It's already an accepted fact that you like to be held, and I was thinking...”

“I like the way you think,” I interject, cutting him off because I know where he's going with his... idea... and wanting him to know that I approve wholeheartedly of it before he has the time to either second guess or doubt himself. “In fact, I really can't think of anything I'd like more,” I add, smiling as I pull my hand out from under the blanket and place it in Ethan's. “I just don't want you to feel too... ripped off, or... uh... disappointed that that's how your night...”

“Disappointed?” Closing his hand around mine, Ethan carefully helps me to my feet and, shaking his head, lightly touches his finger to my lip. “As, like you, I can't think of anything I'd like more, just... don't even go there.”

Leaning forward, I very nearly trip over the edge of the blanket in the process and plant a quick kiss on Ethan's cheek. “In that case, let's just go to bed,” I murmur, squeezing his hand as I turn around and take a shuffled step towards the door. “Come on... You should know by now that I'm prone to random bouts of flightiness and that you have to both seize the moment and run with it before I lose the plot again.”

“Seeing as I'm a stubborn bastard who has no intention of going anywhere, feel free to go right ahead and lose it all you like,” Ethan replies, snickering as, taken slightly aback by his response, I shoot him a surprised look over my shoulder. “What? Don't look at me like that. If you think back to what I said, it was that I'd fight for you, not just sit back and passively put up with your, as you call it, random bouts of flightiness.”

“Well... When you put it like that...” Smiling, I entwine my fingers around Ethan's and gently pull him towards the door. “Come on. Let's go to bed and put this sorry mess behind us for a while.”

“Sounds good to me.” Flicking the light switch off with his free hand, Ethan follows me out of the room and, just as I've reached the foot of the stairs, accidentally steps on the edge of my blanket and stumbles into my back. “Fuck!” he exclaims under his breath as, pulling his hand away from mine, he straightens himself up and, as I turn around to face him, scowls with obvious intent at the blanket. “This damn thing! I know, for reasons known only to yourself, that you like it, but, seriously, if I had my way I'd be only too happy to never see it again.”

“It's just a blanket,” I protest with a dismissive shrug. “Oh... And if you're worried that I'm about to turn into whatever-his-name-is from The Peanuts, you know, the one that carries his security blanket everywhere, allow me to put your mind to rest right here and now. It's only a blanket, something I grabbed en route out of the room because I'm not all that fond of roaming around the house, or anywhere for that matter, naked.”

Shaking his head, Ethan grabs a handful of the blanket and, proving that it really does offend him on some level, continues to scowl down down at it. “It might just be a blanket, but it's still one that I associate with...” Sighing, he pulls a face and, letting go of the blanket, places his hands on my shoulder and gently pushes on them until I get the hint and start up the stairs. “It doesn't matter,” he mutters. “If you like the damn thing it's got nothing to do with me anyway.”

“But...” Quietly confident that Ethan's biting his tongue here in preference to coming clean about why it really is he doesn't like the blanket, I come to a stop once I've reached the landing and, wanting to get to the bottom of it, turn around to face him. “What do you associate it with?” I query. “I know it came from Perkins', which, okay, I'm definitely with you on that being a negative, but... I like it because it's soft, and because...” I don't really want to say it because he'll probably see it as illogical, but at the same time know that, if I expect him to be honest with me, I have to. “You'll most likely think this strange, but the main reason I like it is because it reminds me of waking up on the flight back to D.C. and... feeling safe. I knew, even though my eyes were shut and I wasn't even entirely convinced that I was on a plane, let alone heading home, that it was your arms around my shoulders and... that it was over.”

His expression softening, Ethan trails his hand along the edge of the blanket and smiles ruefully. “Talk about ironic,” he replies with what sounds very much like a dry chuckle. “You like it because it provides a good memory, whereas I hate it because I associate it with you... uh... not being in an overly happy place. In the car in LA, on the plane, and now tonight as well. I look at it and it makes me feel... helpless...”

“Oh.” As touched by Ethan's explanation as I am surprised by it, I frown and, just call it a knee jerk reaction, am about to shrug off the blanket and drop it to the floor when, no doubt reading my mind, he shakes his head and pulls it even more tightly around me.

“Don't even dream it,” he states as, yet again taking matters into his own hands, he turns me around and prods me in the direction of the bedroom. “My problem with the damn thing is just that in that it's my problem, not yours. If you like then, seriously, I'm glad. That said...” Pausing as we enter the bedroom, he waits until I've turned back to face him and am giving him a quizzical look before adding, “You like it because you associate it with... comfort, yeah?”

“Pretty much.”

“But... On the plane, you were either asleep or had your eyes closed most of the time, right?”

“Again... Pretty much.”

“So, really... What you like about the thing is how it... feels, right?”

“Mmm...” I nod. “I like it because...”

“It's warm and soft,” Ethan finishes as, suddenly looking slightly smug, he beams at me. “So, really, as far as you're concerned it doesn't matter a damn what it actually looks like.”

“If that's your way of checking to see whether I'm hiding a leopard print fetish from you,” I reply, “then the answer is, no... I don't care what it looks like at all.”

“So... If I could find one in the same size and which felt the same, but... didn't look the same, we'd all be happy?” Ethan offers, still beaming with apparent pride at his use of carefully thought out logic. “I mean, I'm not going to push the issue, but...”

“So long as it's not hot pink or has a picture of Elvis emblazoned on it, it sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” I interrupt as, more than content with the idea, I return Ethan's smile. It's not as though I'd shrivel up and die without a furry blanket in my life, but if he wants to replace it with one free from either any links to Perkins' or unpleasant memories then, well, I'm not going to stop him. “Now... Bed, yes?”

Looking pleased, if not relieved at my easy acceptance of his plan, Ethan nods and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. “You're still okay with this, yeah?”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response,” I mutter as I retrieve my pyjamas from under the pillow and, even though I know Ethan's still watching me, drop the – soon to be history – blanket to the floor. Naked, I quash the memories of what happened less than an hour ago when I first stood bare before him, and, even though it still makes me feel a little uncomfortable, let him look me over without either comment or looking away. It's not, after all, as though he hasn't seen it all before anyway. Ethan's seen it, hell, thanks to Perkins and my determination to keep my cover intact, Jane and Benji and have seen it all too, and, let's face it, it's not as though I haven't been on display like this to a far bigger audience before, so... I don't really know why it is my skin suddenly feels as though it's crawling and all I want to do is pick the damn blanket back up again and hide behind it.

I'm nothing special, he's seen it all before, and I'm... not going to lose it over nothing again.

I'm not.

I'm just... not.

“Whatever it is you're thinking, just stop it,” Ethan states as, having already stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, he walks around the bed and holds my pyjamas out towards me. “You're beautiful,” he adds in a whisper delivered directly to my right ear, “but you're not on display and you're never, ever to feel as though you are. So, come on, put your pyjamas on and get into bed. I don't know about you, but I'm ready for some shut-eye.”

Ethan's effortless ability to get through to me seemingly knowing no bounds, I take the pyjamas from him and quickly pull them on. “Thank you,” I murmur, cupping my hands around Ethan's cheeks and lightly kissing his forehead before planting a ghost of a kiss on his lips and climbing into bed. 

“Nothing to thank me for,” Ethan replies with a shrug as he walks over to the door and turns the light off before returning to the bed and climbing in next to me. “And don't even think that I'm pandering to you, Will, as I'm not. I'm just telling it to you how it is because I think you need to hear it.”

“And I still say thank you,” I murmur, resting my head on the pillow and settling myself on my side with my back to Ethan. “Just... Thank you for everything and... I promise to do what I can to deserve it.”

Lying on his side, Ethan presses himself against my back and, draping his arm around my waist, rests his hand flat on my chest. “Just keep trying,” he responds softly, his breath warm against the nape of my neck, “and never forget that you're worth it, that's all I'm asking for. Now... Shhh... Don't lie there going over what you think you should have done differently tonight and, as it all worked out okay eventually anyway, just go to sleep. It'll be all okay in the end, Will, you'll see.”

Don't go over what I... could have, and probably should have... done differently, he says.

I'd wanted, because I thought I needed to and because it was what I was convinced he would have been wanting himself, to offer myself up to Ethan as a lover. As plans go, it was quite simple. Just do what people the world over do and have sex with someone I actually care about. Again, it wasn't rocket science and, especially given my history of letting just about anyone who felt like it touch me, it should have been easy.

Sex because I wanted to, and with someone I'd do anything for.

Easy, right?

Only... it didn't work like that. I lost the plot, had a melt down and... subsequently learned more than I ever could have hoped for if I'd just bitten the bullet and gone through with my original plan. 

That, and I wouldn't change the position I'm currently in, the one I can hardly believe I've been lucky enough to be gifted, for anything.

Pushing back against Ethan, I fold my hands over his in order to lock him in place and, more content that I've perhaps ever felt, settle down to go to sleep.

Ethan's right, it really is going to be okay.

It's not going to be easy, or a quick fix, or without its fair share of rocky roads to navigate, but, as we've both made it so far, what it is going to be is okay.

~ end ~


End file.
